


feel the heat

by thewonderzebra



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angry-ish smut, Established Relationship, Hurt/comfort (sorta), M/M, Smut, Some depiction of hockey violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra
Summary: A horrific season opening loss and Brad getting involved in a blood-drawing fight lead to Patrice feeling very turned on. The feelings of frustration have only one way of being released.





	feel the heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts), [formulaice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/formulaice/gifts).



> Okay, let's ignore the shitshow that was the Washington season opener. (The real season-opener HAS to be in Buffalo). We got a very hot Marchy fight... so, there's that. Anyway, thanks to Alex (blindbatalex) and Monica (formulaice) for prompting this. Enjoy!

Patrice is angry. Actually, angry doesn't even begin to cover it. He can feel his blood boiling in his veins with rage, lividity, and absolute fury. He should have guessed, when the Capitals scored twice within the first two minutes of the game, that tonight was not going to be easy. However, as the night continues, he realizes the extent of the situation, and his frustration--with Washington, with his own team, with the entire night--increases exponentially. 

Not helping Patrice's mood is the fact that none of his passes seem to be connecting with Brad. Every time his stick touches the puck, he desperately hopes Brad will receive the pass and fire on the net; and every time, his hopes are shattered. He is livid. He has half a mind to give Brad the cold shoulder off the ice, to withhold sex from his love for at least a week. Perhaps inducing that level of frustration would get the point across that Brad (and the rest of the team) need(s) to pay some fucking attention on the ice. 

The rage-fueled part of Patrice's brain is delighted by that idea, but the rational part of him knows better. This isn't Brad's fault; hockey is, after all, a team sport…a team sport that also relies on lucky bounces. Tonight, neither the team aspect nor the luck aspect of the game are going the Bruins' way. So, Patrice takes a deep breath and tries to focus on making it through the game with what little pride he still has left, since clearly winning is not in the cards. 

Then, the fight happens. Lars Eller lands a seventh goal in the Bruins' net, and Patrice can feel his blood start to boil once more. When Washington's player skates past the visitors' bench, celebrating and flaunting, the already foul mood of the entire team takes another drastic dive. Patrice is sure there are some less-than-pleasant words being exchanged among the group, but he tries his best to let the words go in one ear and out the other. In the blink of an eye, though, Brad's number flashes across his vision, and gloves are being thrown to the ground. 

Given that Brad's job is to agitate, Patrice has grown used to intervening over the years, frequently stepping in to de-escalate whatever situation his other half has stirred up. He has gotten used to approaching the other team and smoothing things over, and has even gone so far as to talk to the refs to get Brad reduced penalties (which doesn't always work, but he has been able to make a case for his love a time or two). Tonight, however, Patrice can't bring himself to do any of those things. He stands, with eyes fixed on Brad, watching as his left winger makes the entire team's feelings abundantly clear. 

He knows he shouldn’t be delighting in the fact that Brad is drawing blood. He knows that there are going to be penalties--possibly worse. But, Patrice doesn't care. Instead, all of the building rage he feels melts away into a sort of acceptance and serenity. And, as he watches Brad throwing his fists, hears him growling expletives, the assistant captain realizes he is incredibly turned on. In all the years Patrice has known Brad, in the years that they have been together, he can't ever recall feeling this hot under the collar over watching his love fight. Exasperated, maybe…but rarely turned on. He supposes it isn't too late to condition a new response. 

Following the fight, the Bruins make it through the rest of the game with minimal incident. The mood in the locker room is quiet as Bruce tells the team what needs to be better tomorrow in Buffalo. Even after talking to the media and showering, the mood is remains somber as they pack their gear to head to Buffalo, save for a few words of praise directed at Brad for standing up for the team. Patrice, consequently, is glued to Brad's side, squeezing his hand occasionally while they pack to let him know that he, too, is proud of him, despite the horrible game the team played.

On the short flight from Washington to Buffalo, Brad sits next to Patrice, and Patrice tends to his love's bruised, swollen hands. He kisses each cracked knuckle, and holds bags of ice to them, ignoring Brad's hisses of pain. Meanwhile, he replays the fight in his mind, and can't help but lean in to kiss Brad's neck to make him squirm. He smiles when he feels goosebumps raise on the left winger's skin, and continues his gentle torment by moving one hand off of the ice bag and down to Brad's thigh, rubbing circles and moving his hand higher and higher--but not high enough--to leave his other half whimpering just loudly enough for Patrice [and only Patrice] to hear.

Patrice, who is turned on even more by Brad's predictable reaction to his teasing, doesn't let up when the plane lands. He stands close to Brad as they gather their belongings, and puts a hand in his pocket as they walk to the bus. On the bus to the hotel, Patrice ghosts his hands over the front of Brad's pants, smirking when he feels him twitch, and nipping the side of his neck when he whines ever so softly. He knows it has been a tough night for the entire team, and while he may not be able to make everyone feel better, Patrice at least knows what he can do to alleviate some of Brad's stress…and he wants to, just as bad as he knows Brad wants him to. 

By the time they get their room keys and get to their room, the sexual tension between Patrice and Brad reaches a boiling point. They both barely set their bags down by the door before Patrice grabs Brad and backs him forcefully up against the wall, kissing him fiercely. Brad lets out a muffled yelp of surprise before melting into the kiss and working to push Patrice's jacket and shirt off his shoulders. Patrice, meanwhile, nips at Brad's lips and unbuttons his jacket and shirt, sucking marks into his neck and chest as he does so. 

"Fucking hell," Patrice breathes in between bruising kisses. "Watching you fight today was the hottest thing, ange. And god, I want you." 

He knows better than to say anything that could be taken as a chirp. He does. But somehow, the words fall from Patrice's mouth, and he has to suck another mark into Brad's neck before he says something else that he may regret. 

"You have me," Brad murmurs, though his voice is now high and breathy with arousal. "So take me, Bergy. Go on." And, there it is: the response Patrice was expecting. 

He is nothing, though, if not quick to act. Patrice yanks the buckle of Brad's belt open, and sinks to his knees, pulling the winger's suit pants along with him. Briefly, Bergeron looks up, and feels desire kick him low in the stomach all over again at the sight of a very flushed Marchand with dark eyes, panting heavily as he looks down at Patrice. He pauses a moment, and waits for his other half to nod--but once that is given, Patrice gets to work; he takes Brad's length into his mouth as far as his throat will allow, lapping at the slit of him and drawing circles all the while. He is fueled by Brad's moans, driven by the feeling of the winger's hands at the back of his head, simultaneously pushing him down and tugging at his hair. 

Patrice knows when Brad is literally seconds away from coming by the way his body begins to shake. As tremors begin to run through the left winger, the assistant captain pulls off of him, drawing a groan of frustration. "Bergy, what the fuck?" Brad pants in protest when Patrice stands up. Patrice doesn't answer with words, however. Instead, he takes his love's hand and drags him toward the bed, both kicking off their shoes and shedding the remainder of their clothing in response. 

Brad seems to understand, after that. He throws himself backward on the bed, hips close to the edge of the mattress as he draws his legs upward. The less talking there needs to be, the fewer barriers between them, the better. Patrice nods in approval as he takes in the sight of him, grasping his own dick in one hand, and Brad's waist with the other for a brief moment before pushing inside of him. 

For a moment, Patrice is completely overwhelmed by the sensation of being inside of Brad--he always is. He throws his head back and lets out a positively tortured-sounding moan, allowing himself to get lost in his other half as he braces himself above him. The flurry of motion that occurs in the moments to follow is hot, fast, and dirty. Patrice is quick to find a rhythm with his hips, grasping Brad's length and stroking in a counter-rhythm that he knows will drive him over the edge quickly. 

Ordinarily, they do their best to keep the noise coming from their hotel room on road trips to a minimum (lest the team mock them endlessly). But there is something about tonight's atmosphere both on and off the ice that leaves Brad and Patrice throwing caution to the wind. At the risk of being teased mercilessly or even interrupted by whichever teammates happen to be rooming next door, Brad lets himself get lost in the way Patrice is fucking him, moaning loudly and whimpering helplessly as he is worked from the inside out. Patrice holds nothing back, either, alternating between whispering dirty things in Brad's ear and whining in pleasure.

Before long, Patrice can feel Brad beginning to shake once more, and he knows his love is dangerously close to coming. He can't say that he is far off, either, as his vision is beginning to blur and his muscles are beginning to quiver. Of course, even in the heat of the moment, Patrice makes damn sure to take care of his other half. "Come on, Marchy," he murmurs in his ear before dragging his lips up and down Brad's neck. "Let go and come for me."

"Bergy, please," Brad all but wails. A few more hard thrusts, and the left winger gets what he wants. His release hits him like a brick to the head, causing his mind to go blank and his eyes to see stars. He loses total control over his body, totally unaware that his back is arching off the bed, unaware that he is making a mess of his own stomach. His world narrows down to: Bergy, Bergy, Bergy; and he is only vaguely aware of himself screaming that same mantra. 

Feeling Brad's body shake, watching him ride out his ecstasy is just what Patrice needs. He falls apart crying Brad's name over and again, spilling inside of him and collapsing on top of him as he does. As white-hot bliss floods his veins, Patrice has the thought of rolling off of Brad so as not to crush him--but he does so quickly, so as to pull him into his arms and cling to him as they breathe heavily and try to regain control over their quivering muscles. 

It is only later, when they have cleaned up and collapsed into bed, that either of them decide to speak. Unsurprisingly, it is Brad that speaks up first. (Patrice has never been one to fill peaceful silences unnecessarily). 

"So," Brad begins, and as much as Patrice loves him, the assistant captain is sure he is about to roll his eyes. "Watching me fight really turned you on, eh?" Patrice opens one previously-closed eye to look down at his love, and indeed, rolls his eyes at the cocky smirk on his left winger's face. 

"Marchy…" Patrice growls in warning. "Please don't get any ideas. I need you out of the penalty box more than I need you in it." 

"I'm just saying," Brad continues. "If I knew we were going to have mind-blowingly hot sex every time I beat a guy up, I would have started doing it a long time ago." 

Patrice groans exasperatedly. Brad laughs, happy to have lightened the mood as he tells Patrice that he loves him. Patrice can only shake his head and tell Brad that, in fact, he loves him too--horrific loss, blood-drawing fight and all. The season feels much more doable after that.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading and indulging me! Leave a comment down below, if you'd like. My plot bunnies thrive on positive feedback. Come say hi on Tumblr and scream about hockey with me; I'm at the same URL there, too (@thewonderzebra).


End file.
